{{ Does it chafe, I wonder? The thought of how much more you could do, if you were not stymied by a lack of resources, by mechanisms without the intelligence and understanding to grasp your work? Your composure is admirable, but I knew your counterpart, and I know how it eats at you. Like a scraplet in your processor, driving you mad. Remember, Shockwave, there are those of us capable of such understanding, those of us with resources, and my commlines are always open. }}
The isolated location Shockwave had selected for their rendezvous was starkly reminiscent of certain areas of Cybertron, with its dessicated mineral surface and comfortable heat. The sweltering temperature left a haze in the air and cast simple optical illusions of oil puddles in the distance that might have confused a lesser intelligence.
Shockwave had taken care before his departure; his projects and equipment had been thoroughly secured and all data backed up to several alternate locations in case of damage or tampering.
The little insecticon had watched his preparations in quiet confusion as the comfortable routine Shockwave had maintained for so long changed without obvious provocation or explanation. Rather than permit the creature to accompany him, Shockwave had delivered it to Soundwave's quarters; the only mech he could trust with the little insecticon's care in his absence.
The only items he burdened himself with were for bargaining purposes; information that the Fallen Prime could find tactically useful, as well as the comatose frame of the Seeker that Megatron had failed to secure as well as he should have.
The Fallen Prime's wayward pet held no value to Shockwave except to earn him favor with the leader of this new faction, and as a show of goodwill he left the Seeker slung over one shoulder rather than dumping him in the filthy organic dirt.
There he remained—exposed and motionless—as his internal chronometer counted each astrosecond that remained until his audience with the Prime.
